The Kids
by Every Shade of Blue
Summary: A collection of oneshots about my favorite BrOT4 (Sam, Josh, Toby, and CJ), based on whatever ridiculous headcanons I come up with. Probably Sam-heavy because he's unashamedly my favorite. Will be updated at whatever pace my brain yields plot bunnies
1. Chapter 1

If anyone has any suggestions for drabbles you'd like to see here, feel free to leave a review or message me and I'll see what I can come up with!

* * *

 _(During 'In the Shadow of Two Gunmen')_

Where the hell was he? Toby had been canvassing the west wing for nearly ten minutes looking for Sam, and the place really wasn't _that_ big. He should have been back from doing the morning shows by now; he was supposed to be helping Toby with a press release. So where was he hiding? Having made an entire circuit of the west wing with no sign of his wayward deputy anywhere, Toby finally circled back to the communications bullpen and stopped by Ginger and Bonnie's desks.

"Have either of you seen Sam recently?"

Ginger glanced up from her work. "I saw him go into the bathroom about fifteen minutes ago." She waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the men's room down the hall and then returned her attention to the papers on her desk.

Toby raised an eyebrow, his frustration obvious. "And, as that was fifteen minutes ago, it's supposed to help me find him how, exactly?"

Used to such threatening tones, Ginger was unaffected. "Well for starters, I haven't seen him come out," she replied as defiantly as she dared.

Oh. Toby turned to stare at the restroom door. On the one hand, there was a possibility that he really didn't want to know why Sam had been in the bathroom for fifteen minutes. On the other, though, Sam did have somewhat of a track record of hiding in bathrooms. Frowning, Toby tried to recall whether Sam had seemed himself when Toby had seen him earlier in the morning or not. To his chagrin, he couldn't remember. It wasn't as if he'd been paying much attention.

"Did he seem - I don't know - sick at all this morning? Or… anything?"

Ginger looked up at him again, confused. "No. He seemed fine to me."

That settled it, Toby thought. Unless Sam had suddenly developed a horrific illness somewhere between appearing on the morning shows and returning to the White House, he was most likely hiding in the bathroom. But for what reason, Toby couldn't imagine. Muttering something about coworkers who were never around when you needed them, Toby headed off toward the restroom with the intention of forcibly retrieving his deputy. Hoping he'd been correct about the cause of Sam's disappearance - and that he wasn't about to walk in on something he'd rather not - he pushed the door open.

He wasn't sure what to make of the sight that met him as he entered. Sam stood in front of one of the sinks, leaning against it, his grip on the sides of the rim so tight that his knuckles were white. He looked pale. The water was running, and he was staring down at it unseeingly, apparently unaware that there was anyone else in the room.

Toby took a hesitant step toward him. "Sam?"

Sam jumped, his head snapping up to look at Toby's reflection in the mirror. Suddenly realizing where he was, he released his death grip on the sink and turned the water off, trying to appear unaffected as he turned around.

"Toby! Sorry, I… I'm supposed to be helping you with a press release. I guess I just, um…" He cast around for an excuse. "I got distracted," he finished lamely.

Toby moved closer, getting a better look at Sam now that he was facing him. He was definitely pale. "Are you all right?"

Sam stared at him for a second, folded his arms, realized it was clearly a defensive gesture, and quickly unfolded them again. "I'm fine."

"Sam." It was easy for Toby to tell when Sam's "I'm fine"s were real and when they were fake, but usually, he let it go regardless. Not this time, though. Not after what had just happened the day before.

Realizing that Toby wasn't about to drop the subject, Sam unconsciously folded his arms again, staring down at the floor. "CJ asked me to do the morning shows for her."

"I know. I saw."

"I thought maybe… I don't know, I thought she was too shaken up or something to talk about what happened, but it turns out she actually couldn't _remember_ what happened."

Toby frowned. "Does this have anything to do with what's going on with you?"

"Not really."

"Sam…"

"It felt so wrong!" Sam blurted out suddenly. Tightening his arms across his chest, he leaned back against the sink behind him, still looking at the ground.

Toby closed the distance between them so he could lower his voice, knowing that harsh words weren't going to be any help to Sam right now. "What did?"

"I… I kept talking about how the White House isn't letting this throw us off our game, how the president's already calling for it to be business as usual, how we're over it and we're ready to come back swinging. I said that over and over and I just…" He stopped, running his fingers through his hair agitatedly. "It happened yesterday, for God's sake! We were on the ground in a hail of bullets _yesterday!_ I watched my best friend - " His voice broke and he stopped again abruptly, eyes suspiciously bright. Toby pretended not to notice him rub a hand across them. "He's my best friend!" he said finally, still struggling for control. "And I spent the entire morning acting like what's happening to him doesn't even matter to me! I spent the morning acting like I'm completely okay with everything, like I don't even care that he's - that he's - "

"Sam!" Toby stopped the tirade by grabbing the younger man's shoulder, steadying him. "Sam, we all know you're not okay with this. We all know how close you and Josh are." He waited for Sam to make eye contact with him, then continued. "This morning you went on TV and you showed the country exactly what they need to see right now. People are worried, and they should be. The president was just shot; the entire government could very well be in disarray right now. But you went on TV, and you provided a calm face for this administration. You did exactly what you needed to do."

Sam looked away, rubbing at his eyes again, and Toby gripped his shoulder a little harder.

"You did good, Sam. What you did this morning was important and necessary. And when Josh wakes up, he'll know that, too."

Sam's eyes came up to meet Toby's again. _When_ Josh wakes up. He nodded shakily, appreciative of the steadiness of Toby's hand on his shoulder.

"You okay?"

Sam took a deep breath and nodded again.

Toby let go of him and stepped back. "You know what…" He rubbed his forehead. "Did you want to head over to the hospital?"

"What about the press release?"

Toby shrugged. "It can wait." He headed for the door, glancing back to make sure Sam was following him. "Come on. I'll drive."

* * *

So that one was kinda sad... The next one's funny, I promise.


	2. Chapter 2

Inspired by me finding and utterly failing to open an old puzzle box :p

* * *

None of them knew where they had come from. They only knew that they had appeared on each of their desks at the same time, early on the morning of December 23, before any of them had come into work. They had each walked into their offices that morning and found on their desks a small wooden box. Shortly afterward, all four of them found themselves in Toby's office, contemplating the strange gifts.

"But where did they _come from?_ " Josh asked for the third time.

Toby rolled his eyes. "I think we've already established that none of us know the answer to that!" he snapped.

There was silence for a moment as they all fiddled with the boxes.

"So they're puzzle boxes, obviously," Sam said after a few seconds.

"What clued you in, Princeton?"

CJ elbowed Toby in the ribs. "Be nice."

"I would if people would stop stating the obvious."

Silence again. A few minutes passed with each of the four ignoring each other in favor of trying to solve their own boxes. Then there was a soft click.

"Well, that was easy." Toby slid open the drawer of his box and pulled out two Yankees tickets.

"How did you do that?" Josh asked incredulously.

"As if I'm going to tell you."

"Oh, come on! Sam, come on, help me make him tell us."

"No."

"What? Why not?"

"Because I don't want to know."

"Also, it's hilarious that you think he could make me do anything," Toby added sardonically.

Josh ignored him, turning to Sam instead and watching as he turned his box over in his hands. "You're not going to let anyone help you with that, are you?"

"Nope."

"Freak."

"Shut up."

There was another click.

"Oh. Toby's right; that was pretty easy." CJ opened her box and found a gift card to her favorite restaurant.

Josh turned on her. "You _have_ to tell me how you did that."

She smirked and tucked the gift card into her pocket. "No such luck, mi amour. You're on your own with this one."

"Oh, _come on!_ "

"Nope."

Several more minutes passed, Toby and CJ watching Josh and Sam attempt to open their boxes with no small amount of amusement. Finally, Josh let out a loud huff, tossing the box from hand to hand a few times.

"You know what?"

Sam ignored him and Toby appeared to be having too much fun watching Sam fail to open his box, so CJ decided to humor Josh. "What?"

"There's an easier way to do this." Then he grinned, dropped his box on the floor, and smashed it with his heel.

"Joshua!"

"Oh, come on, CJ," he laughed, bending to pick up the remains of the box and its contents. "We're all busy people here. We don't have time to be messing around with trivial puzzles." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his best friend still determinedly working on his box. "Right, Sam?"

"What?"

"I was just pointing out that as we work in the _White House_ , we don't have time to spend our day playing with puzzles. Right?"

"...Right."

"One could argue that as we all work in the White House, we should all be smart enough to figure out the puzzles," Toby pointed out.

CJ chuckled. Josh and Sam ignored him. "Sam?" Josh sighed. "You were planning on getting some work done today, right?"

"You're one to talk," Sam shot back, not looking up from his box. "You spent two hours hiding from Donna in my office just yesterday."

"Yeah, well… shut up."

The door opened, and Ginger stuck her head in. "You guys know you're five minutes late for senior staff, right?"

Thirty seconds later, Leo sat behind his desk glaring at his four best and brightest as they all tumbled into his office practically on top of one another. "Well, it's about damn time."

Josh straightened his tie, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry, Leo. An, um - an unexpected distraction came up."

It was a mark of how accustomed Leo was to dealing with the nonsense of his staff that he didn't even question Josh's excuse.

When the meeting ended, Josh, Sam, and CJ exited hurriedly, their less than excusable late entrance still fresh on their minds. Toby rolled his eyes at their hasty departure, gathering up his papers at a leisurely pace.

"So you all got your Christmas presents, then. Or Hanukkah, I suppose, in yours and Josh's cases."

Toby looked up in surprise to find Leo smirking. "So it was you, then."

"Me and the president, yeah. The boxes were his idea."

"Of course they were."

"How are those working out for you?"

"CJ and I got ours open. Josh broke his."

Leo rolled his eyes. "I should've guessed. What about Sam?"

Toby let out a snort of laughter.

Leo's smirk grew wider. "He hasn't gotten it open yet, has he?"

"Nope."

Leo shook his head. "Top graduate of two of the best schools in the country and speechwriter to the President of the United States, and the kid can't even open a box."

* * *

"So, Sam…"

Sam looked up from his work just long enough to give Josh a look that suggested he shouldn't finish his sentence if he valued all of his extremities. Josh chose to ignore him.

"Get your box open yet?"

Sam glared at him.

"I'll take that as a 'no,' then," Josh said, laughing and utterly unthreatened by Sam's expression.

"Go away, Josh."

"Seriously, you should just do what I did."

"I am not smashing it."

Josh shrugged. "Suit yourself."

* * *

On December 27, Josh started awake suddenly in the middle of the night. He laid there for a moment, rubbing his eyes blearily, trying to figure out what had woken him up. Finally, he realized that his phone was ringing. Groaning as a thousand terrible possibilities flashed through his mind of crises that might have befallen the country, he fumbled for the phone and grabbed it off his nightstand.

"H'llo?"

"Josh!"

Josh frowned, trying to force himself into wakefulness. "Sam?"

"Josh, I got it open!"

"...What?"

"My box! I got it open!"

"Sam…"

"Yeah?"

"It's three in the morning."

"Yeah, I know," Sam said, sounding apologetic. "But I got it open!"

"...That's great, buddy."

There was a faint click.

"Josh?" Sam glanced at the phone in his hand. Josh had hung up. Disappointed, he considered calling Toby for a moment, but then decided that he valued his life slightly more than his good news. Shrugging, he dropped the phone on his nightstand next to his finally open box and went to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

A word of warning: I've been having a lot of brotp feels about Sam and Toby recently, so this may or may not become all about them for a while. It's hard to say. My muse is being fickle.  
Anyway, this one is a Sam & Toby early campaign flashback. Enjoy!

* * *

"It wouldn't kill you to be a little nicer to Sam."

"You know, it just might." Toby glanced up at Josh's glare, then turned back to his work, unaffected.

"Toby."

He sighed and looked up again. "What?"

"I brought him here from New York for this. He dropped everything, Toby. Left his job, a damn nice apartment… hell, his fiancee left him over this."

Toby rolled his pen between his fingers, frowning very slightly. "I didn't know that."

"Yeah. And you're gonna pretend you still don't, because he hasn't told anyone but me. I just…" Josh ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "This campaign is all he has right now, okay?"

"Yeah."

"Okay?" Josh asked again, a bit more forcefully.

"Yeah, Josh, I got it," Toby answered, annoyed. "Now if you don't mind, I have work to do - unless you'd prefer the governor to get up on stage and wing it tomorrow night."

Biting back a retort, Josh rolled his eyes in exasperation and left the office, hoping he'd at least done some small amount of good for his friend.

* * *

It was late. Very late. He should go home - not that 'home' really described the hotel where he was staying. Alone. And he was so tired… he didn't want to move. It was so much easier to just stay here at his desk… sleep here again, just like he had for the last three nights. Too exhausted to be fully aware of what he was doing, he absentmindedly reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring he'd been carrying around for a week and a half now, the ring he didn't want to keep and couldn't bear to get rid of. It burned a hole in his pocket wherever he went, never quite forgotten. With a long sigh, he leaned heavily on his desk, resting his forehead on his left hand, the ring clutched in his right. He was so tired…

"Hey."

Sam jumped, quickly sliding the ring out of sight. He'd thought he was alone in the campaign headquarters, but there was Toby standing at his desk across from Sam's, watching him stoically - Toby, who never seemed to be satisfied no matter how hard Sam worked, who didn't like him at all and certainly didn't want him around. Sure, it was all well and good that Josh had gotten him this job, but Josh wasn't a writer. Toby was, and if Toby thought they should get rid of him…

"You all right?"

Sam frowned as the question registered, rubbing his eyes as he attempted to wake himself up more fully. What did Toby care if he was all right or not? Toby was probably just looking for a reason to have the governor fire him, and then where would he go? Back to California? There was nothing for him in New York now.

Realizing that Toby was still waiting for an answer, Sam sat up a little straighter, marshalling his sluggish thoughts into order through a haze of exhaustion. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"I'm - " Sam swallowed hard. "I'm fine," he repeated lamely, unable to think of anything else to say.

Toby didn't look convinced, but unsurprisingly, he didn't press the issue. "Right."

Sam didn't know what Toby was waiting for, didn't know what else to say to him. All he wanted was for him to leave so he could get some sleep.

But strangely, Toby didn't seem to be in a hurry to go anywhere. Remembering what Josh had said, he cast around for something encouraging he could tell Sam. "That was good work today," he managed finally, awkwardly.

"What?" Sam frowned, confused and too tired to have any idea why Toby would suddenly want to be nice to him.

"The speech. It was good." Toby shrugged. "You did good."

"Oh." Sam stared at him, unsure how to respond. "I… thanks."

Toby cringed inwardly, frustrated at the flatness of Sam's tone. He'd hoped that would be enough, but… well, frankly, Sam looked like death warmed over at the moment. He probably wasn't even awake enough to know what Toby had just said to him. "You going home soon?"

Sam's head dropped slightly, and he rubbed his eyes again. "Home," he muttered quietly, barely aware of what was coming out of his mouth. "Don't have that anymore."

Toby froze for a moment, unsure how to respond. He knew Sam wouldn't be saying anything of the kind to him if he weren't so damned exhausted. But at last, a strong suspicion prompted him to ask, "Where have you been sleeping, Sam?"

Finally realizing that he might have said more than he wanted to, Sam didn't answer, didn't even move from his hunched-over position, his face slightly red with embarrassment.

"You've been sleeping here." It wasn't a question. Toby knew he was right without Sam needing to confirm it. His frustration with this whole situation quickly mounting, Toby crossed his arms and rubbed his forehead tiredly, finally looking back up at Sam, who was already beginning to nod off. "Damn it, Josh," he muttered under his breath. If it wasn't for him, Toby wouldn't even still be here now. If it wasn't for him, it never would have crossed his mind to do the thing he was considering. If it wasn't for him, he wouldn't have realized that he just couldn't leave this kid who was so perfectly opposite Toby himself on the outside - but so much like him at heart - here in the office alone for another night. "Damn it." Sam had left behind everything he knew, lost everything he loved, to come here and fight for something he believed in. He deserved better than a boss like Toby - or maybe he just deserved to see a better side of Toby.

Already half asleep, Sam woke with a start to find Toby standing by his desk, shaking his shoulder lightly.

"Come on, Princeton."

Sam rubbed his eyes, blinking up at him in confusion. "What?"

"I'm leasing an apartment here in town," Toby said gruffly by way of explanation. "It's small, but the couch is probably a hell of a lot more comfortable than your desk."

Sam frowned, struggling to process what Toby was telling him - and that was when Toby's earlier statement at last properly registered: _"That was good work today… You did good."_ A little of the weight seemed to ease off of Sam's shoulders as he finally realized what Toby was saying. Suddenly, there were so many questions he wanted to ask: _So you don't really hate me? You don't want Governor Bartlet to get rid of me? I really am… good enough?_ But he didn't say any of that. Toby was still watching him, looking as concerned as he seemed to be able to as he waited for an answer, and Sam wanted so badly to not be alone anymore. So all he finally did say was, "Okay."

Toby didn't say anything. Instead, he reached out silently and pulled Sam to his feet, steadying him when he swayed slightly in exhaustion. He didn't say anything while they walked to the car, or when Sam fell asleep during the short drive to the apartment, his head resting against the window. He didn't say anything when he helped Sam out of the car, supported him up the walk to the building, kept him upright in the elevator the the third floor. He didn't say anything as they made their way down the hall to the apartment, or when Sam fell asleep again practically as soon as his head hit the pillow Toby had put at the end of the couch for him. He didn't say anything as he tossed a blanket over Sam, who, to his surprise, suddenly looked even younger than he had before.

It wasn't until he had turned the light off and started to leave the room that he paused, turned back around for a brief moment to look at the sleeping form on the couch and muttered one more time, "Damn it."

He had no idea when it had happened, but somehow, Sam Seaborn had managed to find his way into a place in Toby's heart that he'd previously thought could only be occupied by his brother David.

Shaking his head, Toby left the room, looking forward to finding his own bed for the night. It had been a hell of a long day.

"Damn it."


	4. Chapter 4

Okay, so maybe my muse isn't being fickle. Maybe it's just crying a lot over Sam and Toby.

This one takes place in the middle of Manchester Part 2, the night before Bartlet's speech.

* * *

" _Bruno just got off the phone with Leo. The speech is locked."_

Toby sighed and glanced at his watch. It had been just over an hour since his conversation with Doug, since he'd told him the President had approved the speech. Doug had left immediately afterward, probably to get some sleep - it had been an exhausting few days, after all. Toby knew he should have done the same, and yet here he was an hour later still wandering the halls.

" _You guys are so pissed at him, you don't even know it."_

Toby picked up his pace a bit, looking for something with which to distract himself, knowing that if he allowed himself to think about Doug's words enough, he'd probably realize that he was right, and that was obviously the last thing he wanted to -

What was that? Snapping out of his reverie, Toby backtracked a few steps, trying to figure out what had caught his eye. It didn't take him long to realize that the door he'd just walked past was open. Frowning, he approached it quietly and gave it a light push, peering around it as it swung a few inches wider. It was dark on the small side porch that the door opened onto, and it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. Once they did, though, they landed on -

"Sam?"

Sam started slightly and looked up at Toby from his position on the porch floor, apparently surprised that someone had found him. Shifting uncomfortably, he turned away again. "Shouldn't you be getting some sleep?"

Toby raised an eyebrow, stepping fully out onto the porch and pushing the door nearly shut behind him. "Shouldn't you?"

Sam crossed his arms, pulling his knees up closer to his chest. "Couldn't."

"Well… me neither." Toby watched Sam for a moment, but he didn't move, didn't say anything else, didn't even look up. Finally, Toby asked, "Mind if I sit?"

Sam shrugged in response, which Toby decided to take as a 'yes.' He lowered himself onto the porch floor, silently taking a place next to Sam. He could easily see why Sam had chosen this as his - for lack of a better word - hiding place. The view was beautiful, silvery moonlight shining on grassy fields and a small pond in the distance, many constellations clearly visible in the sky. Toby had to hide a small smile as he wondered vaguely whether Sam had ever learned which star really was Polaris.

Almost as though he could read his friend's thoughts, just a few seconds later, Sam pointed and said quietly, "See that? That's Ursa Major… the Big Dipper. And if you follow the two stars at the end of it a ways, there's Ursa Minor. And the star at the end of that one… that's Polaris."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Toby gave him a sideways look. "You're sure it's not a plane this time?"

Sam almost managed to laugh. "Pretty sure now, yeah."

They both smiled faintly, but then silence fell again, and the good humor quickly dissipated. Toby let his eyes trace the path in the stars that Sam had pointed out, his mind wandering to a brief conversation they'd had a few weeks before.

" _He needs to apologize."_

" _Don't worry about it."_

" _He lied."_

" _He didn't lie."_

Toby frowned, rubbing his forehead. _"You guys are so pissed at him, you don't even know it."_ He sighed heavily, glancing at Sam. He was no longer looking at the sky; instead his head was lowered, his eyes closed. For a few seconds, Toby had to wonder if he'd fallen asleep. "Sam?"

He didn't open his eyes, didn't give any sign that he'd heard Toby until at last he whispered very softly, "I'm so tired."

Toby's heart sank at the words, at the exhaustion evident in Sam's voice when he spoke. It wasn't physical, Toby knew. He'd seen Sam work for three and four days straight without going home, had forced him to get some rest on the couch in his office on many such occasions, knew well what it looked like when Sam was physically tired. This wasn't it. This was something… different.

" _He needs to apologize."_

Toby could recall with striking clarity the expression that had been on Sam's face when he'd come back from the Oval the night they'd finally told him about the MS. He'd seen it twice before - the day Sam had found out about his father's affair, and the night he'd realized Toby had planned the last-minute drop in to his GDC speech. At first, he'd assumed it was anger. It had taken him a while to recognize it for what it really was: hurt. One by one, the people Sam looked up to the most were betraying his trust, and it was breaking his heart a little more each time. And not a single one of them had bothered to take a second to apologize. Not the President, not his father… not Toby.

"I know why you want the President to apologize."

Sam stiffened slightly, didn't answer.

Toby sighed, wondering not for the first time just how much more of this Sam could take. Ever since he'd met the kid, he'd never quite stopped worrying about the idea that Sam might someday end up as cynical as Toby himself. He knew he couldn't let that happen. Sam had too damn much potential for that.

"I'm sorry, Sam."

Sam opened his eyes, at last looking up at Toby. It only took a second for the surprise to disappear from his face, and Toby knew he understood. Turning away again, Sam let out a long, slow breath. Then, to Toby's surprise, he relaxed back against the wall of the house and let himself slide a few inches sideways, his shoulder against Toby's. Toby recovered quickly and didn't try to make him move. It was about time someone was there to support him.

"You should go in and get some sleep."

"So should you," Sam answered quietly.

"Yeah."

Neither of them moved. It felt good to have someone to lean on.


	5. Chapter 5

This one comes right after the end of 100,000 Airplanes... and obviously I am still far too preoccupied with big brother Toby and little brother Sam.

* * *

It was well written; Toby had to admit that. Even if it had been an insane idea, even if they never could have used it… it was well written. He was glad Sam had done it. He was glad that, even after everything that had happened over the past few months, Sam was still Sam - mostly.

Sam had annoyed Toby from the moment he'd met him. He was a dreamer, an idealist with stars in his eyes and a firm belief that the right person in the right position could fix the world. But that wasn't what had annoyed Toby. That idealism and the beliefs that went with it Toby could relate to; it was the _innocence_ that he just couldn't understand. Toby himself had grown so used to the world's eternal disappointments that he now expected them as a matter of course. But Sam… the little disappointments seemed to glance off of him, and he continued to go out to meet the world with a smile and an almost annoyingly sunny disposition. It had irritated Toby to no end - until the day he'd realized, to his great astonishment, that he _wasn't_ irritated. He was worried. Someday, something would come down the line that would just hit Sam too damn hard, and it would break him. Bright, sunny Sam would be gone, and what they'd be left with instead would be… what? Another Toby? He couldn't let that happen. They already had one Toby; they didn't need a second one. They needed a Sam.

In the last few months, Toby had really thought that they might have lost that. Hell, the start of it had been his fault. It was the GDC speech that had done it. He hadn't told Sam about the drop-in beforehand because he didn't want the fight, and he hadn't thought Sam would take it as hard as he did. He should have known. Sam had put a lot of work into that speech, had been proud of it, and rightly so - and Toby had ruined it in just thirty short seconds. Sam had been hurt, but he'd gotten over it and moved on. But then, just a couple weeks later, he had learned of his father's twenty-eight year affair. And then there was President Bartlet's MS.

Sam wasn't Sam after that. He was quieter, more serious, even a bit short-tempered from time to time. Toby had worried more than ever - but it had only lasted until Manchester, when the President had at last apologized to the staff, had told them all how much he needed them, and Sam's eyes had lit up in a way Toby hadn't seen in a long time. The President had made a mistake, but he was still the man Sam had believed in for so long, and once he was able to see that, Sam was Sam again - or so Toby had thought.

He was different now. It was subtle; only the people who knew him best were likely to notice it. Toby had noticed. It had started as merely a slight suspicion, but Toby hadn't been surprised at all to learn that he'd been correct.

* * *

" _Hey, Sam."_

 _Sam was sitting at his desk, staring absentmindedly at his computer screen. He blinked, snapping out of whatever world of his own he was lost in, and looked up at Toby. "Hey." He rubbed his eyes, mustering up a smile. "We did good today."_

" _Yeah," Toby agreed._

 _Sam glanced back down at his laptop again for a moment, then slowly reached out and snapped it shut._

 _Toby watched him, frowning slightly and wondering. He had a question to ask. A few months ago, he knew exactly what the answer would have been - now, though, he wasn't so sure._

" _What did you do with it, Sam?"_

" _What?" Sam asked, his head tilted slightly to one side._

" _The paragraph about curing cancer you wrote for the President… what did you do with it?"_

 _Sam looked away, fiddling with a pen that lay near his hand. "I deleted it." He hesitated for a moment, then added, "It was a pipe dream. We'll never really do anything like that. There was no reason to keep it." He finally looked up at Toby again. "Right?"_

 _Not for the first time in recent days, Toby looked him in the eye and what he saw there worried him. But now wasn't the time to bring it up. Right now, he just needed to get Sam out of his office. "You know, everyone's still celebrating over in Josh's bullpen," he said, nodding vaguely in the direction of the door. "I think he was looking for you. You should go… you know…"_

 _Sam raised an eyebrow. "You are familiar with the proper usage of the word 'fun,' aren't you?"_

 _Toby glared at him. "Just get going."_

 _Sam raised his hands in mock surrender, standing up from his desk and moving around Toby to the door. "All right, I'm going!" As he walked away, he called back over his shoulder, "You could come too, you know. Fun wouldn't kill you!"_

 _Toby rolled his eyes as he watched him go. Then, as soon as he was out of sight, Toby closed the door and headed for Sam's desk. There was something he needed to find._

* * *

Toby sat back and inspected his handiwork, proofreading it one more time, glancing back and forth between the laptop screen and the crumpled sheet of paper next to it as he read. Finally satisfied with his efforts, he named the file and saved it in Sam's drafts folder. It had only taken him a few minutes to find the copy of the paragraph that Sam had printed out for the President crumpled up in his trash can, and not much longer than that to retype it word for word.

Once upon a time, Sam would have kept that paragraph. He would have held onto it, just in case. And maybe he would never need it - but maybe someday when he needed the reminder, he'd find it and remember the things he'd once believed in - and with any luck, their Sam would always stay their Sam.


End file.
